


Heightened Senses

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Character, Jealous Derek, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Slash, Uhm, and then slash, and then we branch out, angry, bada bing, i really have no idea what to tag this, it's just pack stuff really, like end of season two and kinda the beginning of season three, prompt, the bite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deucalion thinks Stiles smells delicious; very tempting, indeed, and he decides to capitalize on that. Derek makes a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sense of Smell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user devildoll's prompt "You guys if Deucalion really is blind I would pay 5 million dollars for him to say, the first time he encounters Stiles, “And which one are you? You smell delicious.” In front of Derek."

It had all happened very suddenly.

Even though they all claimed to be equal, all Alphas in their own right, it quickly became clear that Deucalion was their leader. The other four - the muscled twins Ethan and Aiden, the beautiful brunette Kali, and the solid Ennis - stood slightly behind him, their arms folded, their feet seemingly glued in place as he paced back and forth in front of them. Well, paced may be the wrong word; strut may better fit his actions here. His eyes must have been blue when he was born, but they were light magenta now, just tinted blue underneath the boiling red. They did not move, for he was blind; they did not see.

Derek stood perfectly still, his back eerily straight as he stood in front of his pack, clearly uneasy with the obvious scanning. Peter stood on the porch of their home, leaning against the post, observing the scene before him with barely-concealed amusement. Deucalion would pause now and then and give a comment; to Lydia, he stated she smelled “absolutely lovely,” Erica was “rich,” Peter was “a little off, but not too bad,” Boyd was “heavy, like Ennis,” Scott was “like a new car, still,” Isaac was “nearly a puppy, my God,” and Derek was “the leader, very strong and very fresh.” Scott was positioned slightly behind him, looking for all intents and purposes as though he was about to spring forward at any moment. Lydia was behind him, standing at Isaac’s side, their hands intertwined to keep them both in place. Erica and Boyd were on Isaac’s other side, arms folded in a mimicry of the Alpha Pack’s. Stiles had been forced behind Scott, along with Allison, hidden. Deucalion relied on his sense of scent, but he figured that the two humans would step forward when necessary. He ignored them for now. However, both Allison and Stiles were just about ready to step out from behind Scott, sick of being treated like weaklings, like they were less than just because they were human.

In fact, Stiles decided to remedy that right now. He removed Allison’s hand from his wrist gently and moved around Scott, stepping forward. He froze when Deucalion did; the Alpha’s head snapped up, and he paused mid-step. His head turned around strangely slowly; Derek glared darkly at Stiles before returning his worried attention to Deucalion.

Deucalion approached Stiles then, his head cocked slightly, his blind eyes brilliantly blood red and unseeing. He halted a breath away from Stiles, and Stiles remained unmoving and silent, like a deer caught in headlights, as the Alpha leaned in, his head tilting to the side. He was hardly a millimeter from Stiles’ neck when he inhaled.

“And which one are you?” Deucalion asked softly, his words causing breath to ghost over Stiles’ neck. He shivered. “You smell delicious.”

Stiles only caught the slide of fangs a second too late; by then, there was already a thin trail of blood on his neck, and Deucalion was on the ground, pinned down by his wrists by Derek. Scott was hovering immediately, his hand tight around Deucalion’s throat. Peter already had Stiles shoved behind him, dropping low into a defensive stance in front of the human. The other wolves in Derek’s pack quickly fell into formation; the wolves in Deucalion’s Alpha Pack moved just as swiftly, shifting into an offensive shape.

“I did not mean to harm him,” Deucalion stated, his voice full of a soft, faux-apologetic tone. Scott’s tone tightened at the same time Derek’s did. Peter turned around to focus his attention on Stiles. He tsked.

“Too bad Derek waited, because I’m not so sure this is going to-”

“What do you mean?” Derek demanded of Peter, nearly shoving him aside. Isaac took Derek’s place, grabbing Deucalion’s wrists and restraining him. The other Alphas in his pack hung back slightly, though their eyes were rubies, their claws were sharp, and their fangs were extended. Allison and Lydia’s faces immediately shifted into Stiles’ vision as Peter forced him down on his back in the grass.

“I mean that this is an Alpha’s bite, Derek. It’s going to be more sensitive, no matter how slight it is,” Peter explained impatiently, as though he were speaking to a particularly impossible toddler.

“What can we do?” Derek asked, his grip on Stiles’ wrist just the wrong side of too tight. Stiles pulled against him until Derek realized and released him.

“I’m right here, alright? I’m not leaving you guys for them,” Stiles stated firmly. Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

“If he’s your Alpha, it’s not your choice.” Peter bent down close to Stiles’ neck, forcing him back into a horizontal position as he inhaled. “It’s going to start, Derek. We’ve only got one option-”

“I won’t-”

“You have to,” Peter nearly growled. Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead just clenched his teeth.

“Can someone please explain?” Stiles demanded. Peter and Derek shared a long look before Peter sighed and returned his attention to Stiles.

“Derek’s going to be your new Alpha now,” Peter said cryptically. Stiles barely had enough time to blink before Derek dropped his head down and sank his teeth into the spot on Stiles’ neck right above the nick Deucalion gave him. Stiles’ back arched, and he made a low sound that was almost a shout, if it had not been so weak. He blinked, then shut his eyes. Deucalion laughed.

“Now he smells just like Derek. Very fresh.” Deucalion inhaled sharply. Scott growled, and Deucalion just smiled. “Still very delicious.”

Derek raised his head and snarled.


	2. Sense of Hearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has always been a little bit special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people wanted me to continue this that I did!

Stiles believed his eyes to be open, but he could not see anything. There was not even blackness; it was simply the absence of everything. He was absolutely sure philosophers would have a field day with something like this.

Though he could not see, he could feel, and all he felt was fire. It felt as though he was being burned alive from the inside out; it began in his neck and rushed through his bloodstream, and he could feel it. He could also hear his surroundings - or, rather, the surroundings that must have been his, because there was no way for him to know, really.

Someone bent down beside him - he heard them, the rustle of their clothes, the intake of their breath - and spoke near his ear.

“Derek’s bite was stronger, and the two of them were already bonded,” a voice was saying. Stiles could vaguely identify it as possibly being Peter’s, or maybe not; he had no way of knowing for sure, to be honest. He tried to breathe and found he could not. He began to panic, lifting heavy phantom limbs and scratching at his chest. Someone grabbed at his wrists, pinning them by his sides, and Stiles continued to fight against them, arching his back up and trying to roll away. The breath still did not come; the fire was choking him, allowing smoke to fill his airways. He gasped.

“Scott, let him go,” the same voice demanded. The hands on his wrists did not loosen. “ _Scott._ ”

Scott must have listened, because the weight disappeared. Stiles threw himself into action, still blind to his surroundings, his head stuffed with cotton and his mind spiraling out of control. He felt along the ground and tripped nearly immediately. There were a dozen scents around him that he had never smelled before, but he ignored them in the wake of a sound that felt as though it were calling specifically to _him_. A steady drumbeat, thrumming harshly near his head. He snapped his head to the side, and his vision cleared slightly.

_Alpha._

Stiles sprung forward towards the sound, the sound guiding his own heart, the sound he was attempting to match his breaths to. He found that the pace allowed him to breathe, and the panic began to subside slightly. The ground lurched under him, and two hands - distinctly feminine and _not Alpha_ \- grabbed his upper arms, holding him upright.

“What’s going on?” someone asked. Not the same voice. Not Peter, not Scott. A high voice, a woman - she must belong to the hands. _Lydia._ Stiles wanted to relax with the recognition, but found he could not. He needed to reach the heartbeat. His vision was blurred and shadowed, shaded around the edges. He blinked furiously.

“I’ve never seen someone take two Alpha bites at once. I’ve got to say, though, he’s taking it like a champ.” Peter sounded the slightest bit proud. Stiles struggled against the hands on his arms, and they slipped away nearly immediately. Again, he focused on the Alpha’s deep heartbeat, and again he followed it. His vision cleared to reveal Derek’s worried face looking down at him, then up at something else. Stiles frowned.

“What’s he doing?” Derek demanded. Stiles could not see beyond his face, but he was not surprised when Peter responded.

“He is likely attempting to identify with his Alpha. Give him a couple minutes to get his bearings, will you? Back off.” Peter was snapping at someone, and Stiles heard someone behind shuffle back. He could hear their heart thump twice; they smelled guilty. _Scott._ It had to be Scott. It _smelled_ like Scott should smell like.

Stiles continued staring at Derek’s face, trying to reconcile _Derek_ and _Alpha_ and _that heartbeat_ , the one that was pulling at his own chest, the one he was matching. Derek’s face suddenly disappeared, and Stiles caught a brief glimpse of the ground before Isaac’s face swam into view.

“I get it, Stiles,” Isaac was speaking now, his voice low. Stiles’ expression was blank, though his eyes were focused on Isaac’s. “It’s good, isn’t it? Derek’s heartbeat. It feels good, feeling like you’re a part of something else. Something bigger than you.” Stiles nodded. “I know. I understand, I get it. It’s a relief. You’re not alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Stiles repeated. He smiled. Isaac did not let their eye contact break, though the smile sent a shiver down his spine and into his stomach. “I’m not anymore, am I?”

“No. No, not at all,” Isaac reassured him. Stiles let his head fall forward onto Isaac’s shoulder.

“I’m not human anymore, either,” Stiles murmured bluntly. Isaac wrapped his arms around Stiles and looked up at Derek; his Alpha just stared back until Isaac motioned him over with a sharp jerk of his chin. Derek took the couple of steps necessary and allowed Stiles to be transferred into his arms.

“No, you’re not human anymore,” Derek agreed, his deep voice easy and low. Stiles relaxed exponentially. Isaac backed away, his hand lingering in Stiles’ hair for a brief moment before he took the spot at Lydia’s left. “You’re safe, though. You’re safe here.”

“I was _human_. That was my _thing_ ,” Stiles lamented. Scott laughed, an ugly, worried thing, though it carried with it the barest hints of relief that Stiles seemed to be returning to himself. “My dad is going to _kill_ me.”

“Stiles, calm down,” Derek warned, and, oh, Stiles was panicking. _Oops._

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, his voice muffled by the junction between Derek’s neck and shoulder where Stiles had shoved his face. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I just... I made it _so far_.”

“I know. It’s going to be alright.” Derek’s bedside manner left a little something to be desired, but his proximity alone was enough to keep Stiles grounded. Finally, he allowed himself to sit back slightly, no longer needing Derek’s touch to hold him together. He blinked, and was relieved to find his vision clear. He ran a hand over his face, his head still dropped down.

“Where did the Alpha Pack go?” Stiles asked into his palm. Derek’s heartbeat quickened.

“They won’t be bothering us for the time being,” Peter supplied. Stiles raised his head and turned to face Peter; he was met with a group of immediately shocked expressions.

“Holy _shit_ , what happened?!” Lydia screeched. Stiles felt his own heartbeat quicken, speeding up like he had pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

“I’ve never seen that happen before,” Peter offered thoughtfully. Derek grabbed Stiles’ jaw and turned his head back around, and their eyes immediately locked. Derek’s brow furrowed and his eyes flashed a brilliant red.

“Neither have I.” Derek used the hand still firmly grasping Stiles’ jaw to turn his head this way and that, as though _whatever it was_ they were all so frightened of would disappear in the right light. Stiles smacked his hand away, and was surprised when it actually moved.

“Someone tell me what the fuck you’re all going on about,” Stiles all but growled. Erica forced his way to the front of the group crowding around Stiles and offered him her compact. He flipped it open and was immediately shocked by his own reflection. He understood their reactions now.

His eyes were scarlet red.


	3. Sense of Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything makes a little bit more sense now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'm not going to pick all actual senses.

“Holy shit!” Stiles exclaimed, dropping the compact and scrambled backwards, kicking up a cloud of dirt as he went. He felt his palms scrape along several sharp pebbles, but the wounds healed nearly immediately. He jerked his head up to look at Derek, who had a confused expression painted onto his face.

“Peter,” Derek called, his head turning to the side even as his eyes stayed focused on Stiles’. “Peter, what the hell is this?”

“He’s not the Alpha in our pack,” Isaac offered quietly. “He doesn’t smell like Alpha. He smells like...”

“He smells like your mate, Derek,” Peter finished for Isaac. Stiles’ head snapped over to him.

“How does that even work? I could never find anything about mates in the books.” Stiles pushed himself up onto his feet and brushed off his pants. He frowned at his lack of shirt. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Scott panicked and ripped it off,” Lydia provided helpfully. Stiles raised an eyebrow at Scott; his best friend shrugged anxiously.

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” Scott explained. Stiles rolled his eyes and rubbed his palms together as he refocused on Peter. “So. How’s this work?”

“As a human, you ran the pack with Derek. When Derek turned you with such strong... let’s say intent, your body reacted to him by making you his mate.” Peter paused to let that sink in. Derek looked horrified; Stiles looked curious. “It doesn’t need to be an intimate thing, or a romantic thing. It’s mainly a hierarchy thing at this point. You’re more his equal now than any of us. You both run the pack together now.”

“We always did,” Derek forced between his clenched teeth. Stiles ran a shaky hand through his hair and turned around, starting a short pace.

“My dad is still going to kill me,” Stiles murmured. Isaac stepped forward nervously, reaching out a hand. Stiles stopped pacing and allowed Isaac to press closer. Isaac rubbed their stubbled jaws together; Stiles felt, in the back of his mind, as though he ought to think this was weird, but it felt normal and good. It felt like pack; it was comforting. Stiles grinned. “He’ll get over it, I could get used to this.”

“Your eyes are brown again,” Erica pointed out, seeming as though she was barely paying attention, though her eyes kept flitting between Derek and Stiles.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to take orders from you,” Jackson informed him, in no uncertain terms. Stiles threw his hands in the air.

“I’m not even totally sure what’s happening-”

“What’s not to get?” Peter murmured. Stiles ignored him and continued.

“-and I have no intention of telling anybody what to do. Will you two knock it off?” Stiles snapped, turning around to glare at Scott and Allison, who had been murmuring to each other in low tones. Scott immediately stopped talking and straightened; Allison blinked.

“Ooh,” Lydia laughed. “Stiles is getting bossy now that he’s an Alpha mate.”

“He’s not my mate,” Derek growled at the same time that Stiles shouted, “I’m not getting bossy!”

“Yes, he is, and, yes, you are,” Peter said to them both, taking a seat on the porch steps. Derek seemed to be barely refraining from strangling his uncle. Stiles could not say he blamed him. “Stiles, it’s not your fault. It’s an instinct you’ll have a lot, to pull them all together and shit like that. And, Derek, get over yourself. You can still bang all the talent you want, you’re not married to him.”

Derek and Stiles glanced at each other, then away, looking at anything else. Lydia snorted a laugh that, were he asked, Stiles likely would have said was adorable. Lydia would have described those two boys as adorable (and annoying as fuck) at that point in time.

“I feel like Derek wasn’t... ‘banging all the talent,’ as you so eloquently put it, Peter, before this happened,” Erica offered. Derek scrubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asked softly. Stiles reached to take Isaac’s hand, but Scott beat him to it. Stiles frowned at how he noticed the smallest twitch in Isaac’s facial expression as he tried not to smile. He made a mental note to ask Isaac about that later.

“Of course, Isaac,” Derek murmured, dropping his hands. “Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Isaac replied, looking down at his and Scott’s entwined hands.

“Are you cool with this?” Stiles asked, finally directing a question at Derek rather than to Peter or to the trees.

Derek shut his eyes. “Everybody, go out of hearing range. Isaac, make sure they actually do it.”

Despite a truly impressive amount of grumbling, the rest of the pack stumbled off into the woods aimlessly, Isaac and Scott shepherding them in an indecipherable direction to an undisclosed location. Derek waited in silence, his eyes still shut; Stiles opened his mouth as soon as he could no longer hear Lydia’s complaints.

“What do you want me to do?” Stiles asked, keeping his voice soft despite their solidarity. Derek motioned to the deck steps that Peter had recently vacated; the two of them took seats side-by-side.

“You’re good at keeping the pack together, and I don’t plan to have an actual... romantic mate. Not anytime soon, anyways.” Derek kept his eyes focused on the trees ahead of him. Stiles stared at Derek’s profile. “I want you to stay. I’m...”

“Yeah?” Stiles prompted when it seemed like Derek had just stopped searching for his words altogether. The Alpha dropped his gaze down to his shoes on the bottom step.

“I’m sorry. That this happened,” Derek managed. Stiles reached out tentatively and took one of Derek’s hands in his, feeling, in the moment, as though it were the right thing to do. Derek, to his credit, did not pull away.

“You’re not going to scent me, right?” Stiles teased. Derek shoved his shoulder, sending Stiles sprawling in the dirt at the foot of the porch stairs. Stiles laughed and rolled onto his back, missing the way Derek’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, the way Derek was just on the wrong side of smiling.


	4. Sense of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles can deal with weird; that's his schtick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure what just happened, I just know that the new episode caused me to explode all over a word document a bit.

Stiles, still on his back in the dirt, blinked at Derek’s nearly-smiling, clouded face. It blurred in his vision; he blinked again. The second blink felt longer, more drawn-out than a blink ought to be; there was more time missing in between. When he opened his eyes the second time, Derek was crouched beside him, his almost-smile gone and his eyes darkened. Stiles blinked again, and, this time, when he opened his eyes, the pack was gathered around him.

“How are you doing that?” Stiles asked, his voice was sounding like a babbled flood even to his own ears. Peter frowned at him. Derek immediately straightened up and grabbed Peter by the back of his neck.

“You said he was strong enough,” Derek growled. Scott jerked Stiles up into his arms and hauled him away from the two Hales. “You said he could _handle this, Peter!_ ”

“I’ve never claimed to know everything,” Peter said defensively, raising his hands in what Stiles groggily assumed was supposed to be a peaceable gesture. Derek seemed to take offense, switching his hand from gripping the back of Peter’s neck to being wrapped around his throat. Isaac wavered slightly, leaning forward towards his Alpha. “Hey, whoah, kiddo!”

“I’m not going to let this happen a second time,” Derek spat in Peter’s face. “If it happens again, you’re going to pay for it.” His grip tightened for the briefest moment before he dropped his uncle. Peter fell onto one knee, a hand at his own throat as he gasped. Derek stalked away; Isaac looked after him, then at Stiles, then back to Derek before he chased after him worriedly.

“What is he talking about?” Stiles asked, his head lolling back against the crook of Scott’s arm as he tried to make eye contact with something that was not the bright green logo on Scott’s shirt.

“He’s talking about your body rejecting this,” Peter explained, standing up straight and looking at Derek rather than Stiles. “Except that he _knows_ that you wouldn’t’ve changed first, then _rejected_ it.”

“We’ve never seen _any_ of this before!” Derek exclaimed, motioning jerkily in Stiles’ direction. Scott took a step back; Stiles could not find the energy to get himself put down. “How do you know what’s going to happen?! You’re going to get someone else killed! You’re going to get _Stiles_ killed!”

Peter threw a dry glare his nephew’s way. “Look, when I checked out Stiles before I offered him the bite the first time-”

“When you _what_?” Derek’s voice hit a low register Stiles was not even sure he had heard in another human being before. Scott’s grip tightened reflexively. The forced calm of Derek’s tone was betrayed by his ember-sharp red eyes and his elongated canines. “When did you offer him the bite?”

“Oh, it was some time ago, wasn’t it, Stiles?” Peter shifted so that he was closer to Stiles, likely assuming that Derek would not attack the closer the proximity was between Peter and Stiles. _Well,_ Stiles thought bitterly, _if I were you, I’d come up with a better tactic than **that**._

“Sure,” Stiles agreed, wanting nothing more than to just sleep. Derek seemed to catch the edge of that feeling, and his attention slipped from Peter, only to slide back onto Stiles.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asked, stepping closer slightly. Stiles let his head fall back until he could see Derek properly enough. Scott’s hands shifted, adjusting to the new position. Allison’s hand was gripping Stiles’ ankle; Lydia was by his head, her hand drifting against the hairs at the back of his skull now and then. Erica stood slightly in front of Allison, guarding Stiles in a way that made him want to shiver. Derek did not seem to notice any of them.

“Didn’ wanna worry ya,” Stiles murmured, and, yeah, if his words sounded babbled before, they sounded like mush now. Derek’s heartbeat picked up, and Stiles heard it; in fact, it seemed that was the only thing he could hear, as though his body had zeroed in on it. He was vaguely aware that Isaac was trying to say something to Derek, then to him, that Lydia’s face appeared in his vision, her mouth moving. Stiles felt out of focus, his eyes staring into middle space as he listened to Derek’s frantic heartbeat. “C’mm dow.”

Derek pushed Lydia and Isaac out of the way, his lips moving as he crouched in front of Stiles. Stiles listened to the rush of Derek’s heartbeat, pretending it fit the words Derek was trying to say. He nodded, and his brow furrowed.

“Drik. Shh.” Stiles shut his eyes, scrunching them up tightly. Derek’s cool hand touched his face and, _whoah_ , when had Derek’s skin _ever_ felt cool to the touch? Stiles forced his eyes open again. He tried desperately to listen to the words people were apparently shouting around him. Lydia’s voice penetrated first, then Derek’s, likely due to their proximity to Stiles’ head.

“-not going to do any good, so _calm down_ ,” Lydia said softly somewhere above Stiles’ head. Stiles forced himself to shift so he could see her; he was met with both Lydia’s concerned face and Scott’s panicked one. He mustered as much energy as he could and reached up, touching the side of Scott’s face. He felt a smile creep onto his face, unbidden.

“S’rry,” Stiles offered. Lydia frowned.

“You’ve got no reason to be sorry,” Lydia assured him slowly. Derek’s face appeared beside Lydia’s; Stiles was starting to get an odd sense of vertigo.

“What’s wrong?” Derek demanded. Stiles blinked at him, his hand falling from Scott’s face. Derek caught his wrist. “Stiles. Talk to me.”

Stiles felt _compelled_. “Alpha.”

Derek frowned, his brow furrowing as he did so. “Stiles?”

“I’gn _f-feel_ you. Yu’r _Alpha_ ,” Stiles murmured, twisting away from Scott to reach Derek. He felt as though he were not moving of his own accord; rather, it was like there was a rope tied to his waist, and the person on the other end of said rope was tying it to Derek and tugging it until Stiles reached his destination. He had no choice. “Gun t’ m’ head, zen.”

“What are you talking about?” Derek asked. Stiles lurched away from Scott then, his need to be near his Alpha drowning him in a sharp fire. He coughed, and Derek’s eyes went red again. _Spooky._ Stiles thought, trying to continue watching Derek’s face even as Scott shakily passed him over to the Alpha. _Wonder what’s going on._

“Whas goi’n n?” Stiles tried again to put his thoughts into words. Derek’s eyes shut for the briefest moment before he was hauling Stiles inside. The only way Stiles could track where he was was through very focused attention on the sky above him as it shifted to ceiling. His hearing was fading in and out, as was his sense of smell. Derek settled him down on something comfortable - _a bed, I think_ \- but decidedly not Alpha, and therefore not close enough to where Stiles needed to be. “Nnn.”

“What, Stiles?” Allison asked quietly. Stiles’ head jerked, trying to find her. Lydia reached past Derek to hold his head still. Stiles inhaled sharply and forced himself to focus on Lydia’s nose, her hair falling into his face, the end of her chin. He felt his eyes drifting shut.

“D’nn- All,” Stiles shifted, and Allison came into his line of vision, her head popping up right next to Lydia’s. Stiles blinked. “Getchur dad.”

“My dad?” Allison asked cautiously at the same time Derek exclaimed, “Chris Argent?”

“Why?” Boyd asked from somewhere near Stiles’ calves. Stiles was suddenly alerted to the fact that the rest of the pack was shoved into this haze of a room. Everything around him shimmered.

“Sc’t. Dee’in.” Stiles dragged his head across what he assumed was a pillow until he could see Scott’s understanding face.

“He wants people who can help with research, or who might have picked something up,” Scott explained helpfully. Stiles smiled tiredly at him. _Scott always knows what I’m trying to say._ Stiles reached out as tentatively as he could, and Scott grabbed his hand, taking hold of it like it was an anchor - or, perhaps, as though _he_ was the anchor.

“Berng ‘em hur,” Stiles requested, his slur becoming more and more pronounced. Scott nodded.

“He wants us to bring them to him,” Scott informed the pack at large. “Isaac, Erica, you go get Deaton. Boyd, take Allison to get her dad, will you?”

A chorus of agreements sounded, and Stiles could feel the presence of each pack member fall out of contact with him as they left the Hale home, _my den, is this real-_

“Dad.” Stiles forced his head to the side and up until he could see Scott’s face near him. “Mm.”

“I’ll go get the Sheriff,” Scott agreed immediately, squeezing Stiles’ hand before passing it to Lydia, who gripped it just as tightly as Scott had.

“What’re we going to do?” Lydia asked as soon as Scott vanished. Her question seemed to be directed towards Derek, though her eyes remained locked on Stiles.

“I have no idea,” Derek admitted. Stiles could feel Peter on the opposite side of the room; the weight of his eyes was heavy on Stiles’ face. Derek’s heartbeat sounded offbeat. Lydia’s sounded like a hummingbird. Peter’s sounded normal.

“He’ll be fine,” Peter declared suddenly. Stiles let his eyes slip shut, finally giving up. “You realize this is a big _thing_ he’s going through, right? Human to werewolf to mate to true alpha, shifting all in the span of about ten minutes, mind-”

“ _True alpha,_ ” Derek breathed. “Of _course_. He’s just-”

“-going to be an alpha part of the time, yes,” Peter finished for him, taking a seat at the end of the bed Stiles had been placed in. The mattress dipped. Stiles felt as though he were on a boat in choppy waters.

“So, someone want to explain?” Lydia sounded frustrated. Stiles could sympathize. Derek took a seat beside Peter, then Lydia followed suit, though she stayed closer to Stiles, and on the opposite side. _Scratch that “boat in choppy waters” thing, I’m on the fucking Titantic._

“Stiles is just such a stand-up guy that the alpha lifestyle can’t wait for his pack to die for him to shine,” Peter explained casually. He shifted on the bed. Stiles felt vaguely nauseous.

“It’s a lot for him to handle, then,” Lydia simplified. Peter nodded.

“Basically, the werewolf genes decided he’d make a good alpha, so they stepped up their game,” Peter replied. “It probably didn’t help that two alphas bit him, or that Derek got pretty intense.”

“He was pack,” Derek defended. Stiles, his eyes still closed in his sudden, overwhelming exhaustion, frowned. “He... I mean, he still is pack. When Deucalion said... Stiles is _pack_.”

“I know,” Peter murmured. Lydia squeezed Stiles’ hand. Stiles let himself slip into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, new episode, for explanations of things
> 
> kaboom


	5. Sense of Detachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Stiles' job to help Derek build a new pack, a new family. To do that, though, they have to clear out their attics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I've done.

Stiles’ mind came back to him before his body did. He felt himself drift back into consciousness, but he could not open his eyes. He felt trapped, but there was no pain when there was no body, so he allowed himself to settle into it, relaxing his mind in his prison of a body. It took him some time - or no time at all; it was difficult to discern - to realize he could still hear. He listened with half a mind, still drifting inside his own head tiredly as he did so.

“What the hell’s happened to him?” he could hear his father ask. Stiles wanted to turn his head, to open his eyes, to reach out and tell his father that everything would be okay. He found that the prison that his body had become was beginning to weigh on him like steel. He struggled, even as he listened.

“We’re not completely sure,” Peter answered hesitantly. There was a shuffling, then an intake of breath.

“It’s not bad enough you brought me here and showed me _this_ ,” and here the Sheriff paused, and Stiles wondered vaguely what he was talking about, “but you have no idea what’s wrong with my _son_? Cut the shit.”

“Sheriff-” Derek’s voice began, but the Sheriff’s cut it off again.

“No, Hale, I said _cut the shit_. You know what’s going on. Tell me.” The Sheriff sounded angry. Stiles fought harder. “I can see it in your face.”

“Stiles is a werewolf now, too,” Scott finally answered. There was a strong exhale, then someone sat down heavily on the bed Stiles was laying in. Stiles thought it safe to assume this person was his father. “But... Derek said this isn’t what it would be like if he had rejected it.”

“So what _is_ this like?” the Sheriff asked. Stiles recognized his tone of voice; he was losing his patience. Stiles could empathize.

“This is like his body is trying to handle a lot at once,” Peter spoke up again.

“You remember, in _Star Trek_ , Vulcans go into a healing trance kind of thing?” Scott offered. The Sheriff shifted.

“Where’d you pull that out of?” the Sheriff asked gruffly. Scott almost laughed.

“Stiles used it to explain what Derek was doing once,” Scott explained. The Sheriff did laugh, once; it was dry and unfortunate. Stiles pushed.

“So, you’ve done this before?” the Sheriff asked someone else. Stiles wanted to open his eyes and see how his father looked.

“Not like this,” Derek answered softly. Stiles could almost feel the eyes on him, burning his skin. _My skin is burning. Derek-_

“What’s he doing?” Lydia’s voice now, high and panicked. The weight shifted off the bed; Stiles struggled to figure out exactly what it was he was doing - or, rather, his body was doing while he had to take a backseat. He burned in silence in his own mind.

“Hold his head, Scott- right, there, and Derek, his arms- there.” Peter gave sharp instructions, Stiles noted absently. _Maybe he’s not so bad._

“What is going on?” Now Deaton’s voice was added to the mix, deep and calming, and Stiles settled in his own mind immediately, even as he felt the lick of flames against skin stretched too tightly over a body he had no control over.

“Stiles got the bite,” Peter informed him steadily. Stiles struggled inside his own mind, but he felt shackled. He attacked.

“You’ve got to hold him down better than that, boys,” Deaton instructed. Stiles felt a touch that was almost cool, and it was like a key in his ignition; his mind jumped and fought against it immediately.

“Why the hell did you bring me here?” And there was Chris Argent, his voice angry. Stiles felt the strongest urge to kill, and either Chris Argent was going to take it or Stiles was. “What is he doing?”

“Scott, hold him,” Deaton said. Stiles felt a forced calm sweep through his mind, but the fake feeling it left behind was full of rage. Stiles’ eyes snapped open, and all the feeling came rushing back into his body, flooding from his mind, into his chest, out into his extremities. He inhaled sharply; his back arched off the bed, and Stiles heard himself snarl. His skin was still on _fire_.

Stiles recognized the instinct at once, and he released his body, letting it go limp against the bed. He stared up into Deaton’s face.

“Kill me,” Stiles whispered. Deaton’s forehead creased.

“I’m not going to kill you, Stiles. I’m here to help you.” Stiles was shaking his head against the mattress before Deaton had even finished speaking.

“You have to kill me before I kill someone,” Stiles told him, searching Deaton’s face for any sign that he understood. His eyes were the only part of him that he felt safe moving, so, when he found no give in Deaton’s expression, he let his eyes drift until they found Peter’s face. _Peter. Yes._ “Peter.”

“Stiles.” Peter regarded him coolly. Stiles _itched_.

“Kill me, Peter.” Stiles let his head drop back, groaning through his own clenched teeth. Scott’s grip tightened. “ _Peter_.”

“He may have a point,” Peter offered. Stiles wanted to laugh.

“You’re not killing him,” the Sheriff ground out. Stiles turned his head to the side, seeking out his father. When he found him, he wanted nothing more than to go back and save his father from all of this.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, his voice breaking. He could feel his eyes grow wet, but he could not cry; his eyes lit on fire, and he forced them shut. “Dad, I’m sorry, I have to-”

“Not you, too,” the Sheriff interrupted. “I won’t let them. I promise.”

“Dad-”

“ _Stiles_.” Stiles let his dad’s voice, sure and strong, wash over him. He swallowed, focused on the ceiling, and forced his body into a calm state, even if he only had to hold it for a moment.

“I’ve read,” Stiles began, still staring straight up, “that some people who get the bite can’t handle it, that they go insane-”

“Stiles-”

“No, Derek, let me finish,” Stiles insisted, his eyes locked on a crack in the ceiling. “They go insane, you see. I read about them. They’re too... Something about them is too much.”

“Hey,” Lydia’s voice was soft, gentle, everything that Stiles was feeling the opposite of at the moment. He allowed his head to fall to the side, and he met Lydia’s eyes. “Hey, Stiles.”

“Hey,” Stiles forced out. Lydia reached out and ran a hand through his hair. Everyone in the room stilled, but Stiles just kept staring at her. Lydia continued running her fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” Lydia repeated, her voice level. Stiles allowed it to center him. “You’re too much in general, did you know that?”

“Kind of,” Stiles answered, and Lydia snorted, her eyes drifting up to watch her hand slide through his hair, over and over again, never missing a beat. His heartbeat seemed to fall into sync with it.

“' _Kind of_ '. You know you are.” Lydia made a soft humming noise. “You remember what Jackson was?”

“Jackson was d-”

“He was not a very nice guy, so he became a not-very-nice thing,” Lydia continued, as though Stiles had not even spoken. “You’re a very nice guy. Probably the nicest guy I know.”

“But I-”

“And I know that you can do this.” Lydia’s hand stilled, gripping the hair at the back of his neck very lightly. His eyes skimmed across her face before coming up to her eyes just as she looked down into his. He felt trapped again, but this was an anchor, not a shackle. “And do you know how I know this?”

“How?” Stiles asked. Lydia smiled at him.

“Because, Przemysław, you’re you,” Lydia said softly. Stiles blinked once, then twice.

“How did you-” Stiles began, but, this time, his father cut him off.

“How’d you know his name?” the Sheriff demanded. Lydia waved him off, never taking her eyes off of Stiles.

“I know a lot more than people think I do,” Lydia stage-whispered. Stiles blinked again. “Well, people except for you. You always kind of knew, didn’t you? You know what I’m really like.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed breathlessly. Lydia nodded and leaned forward, her lips right next to his ear.

“You’re going to be the greatest,” Lydia whispered, her voice so soft that Stiles could barely pick it up, never mind there being a chance in hell that anyone else heard her. She kissed Stiles’ cheek, then pulled away, releasing his head as she stood. She waved Scott and Deaton away, then motioned Derek forward. “He’s going to take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Stiles murmured, his voice low. Lydia’s hand ghosted across his forehead for the briefest of moments; his eyes fluttered shut, then reopened when the phantom touch was gone. She smiled again.

“Thank _you_ ,” Lydia replied. The Lydia Stiles knew snapped back into action in a second, waving a hand in front of Isaac’s face. “Stop staring, Lahey. You look like a drooling dog.”

Stiles ignored Isaac’s protests and Scott’s strained laughter as Derek crouched beside him. Stiles bit his lip, more out of giving himself a method of stalling than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles offered eventually. Derek shook his head.

“Guess where Erica is.” Derek was about as subtle as a brick in the face, but Stiles appreciated that. He played along.

“Where’s Erica?” Stiles asked tiredly. Derek very nearly smiled.

“With my sister,” Derek informed him. Stiles felt much more awake.

“With... your sister,” Stiles repeated slowly. Derek nodded once. Stiles shut his eyes and reached up to rub at his temples. “Laura?”

“No,” Derek said softly. “No, not Laura. Cora.”

“Laura, Cora, and Derek?” Stiles asked, and Derek almost laughed that time.

“Yeah, Laura, Cora, and Derek.” Derek paused for a moment. “There were a bunch of us. My mom, her name was Talia, and my dad, George. Then there was Peter, he lived with us. And me, Laura, and Cora, but I had other siblings, too.” Derek paused here again, taking a deep breath through his nose, then out his mouth. Stiles opened his eyes to watch him. “Besides the three of us, there was Sam, Lee, Aidan, Henry, Jenna, Natalie, and Marion.”

“Shit, man.” Stiles rubbed at one of his eyes. “Your parents weren’t fucking around. Ten kids, _Jesus_.”

“At least none of them were named Przemysław,” Derek snorted. Stiles frowned at him.

“You are never to speak that name again,” Stiles growled. Derek’s lips twitched.

“Understood,” Derek agreed, shifting until he was sitting on the floor beside Stiles’ bed. “Well, you see, werewolf families - I mean, they’re pretty big. Laura and I weren’t the oldest. Sam was the oldest, he was twenty-five. Then Jenna, she was twenty-three, then Lee was twenty. Laura was eighteen. I was fifteen. Aidan was twelve, and he was home sick that day. Cora was nine, and she whined until Dad let her stay home, too. Henry... was seven, and he never went anywhere Aidan didn’t go. Natalie was three, and Marion was four months old.” Derek scratched at his hairline to give his hands something to do. “Families stay together until they make their own families. Sam wasn’t even dating anyone yet. We were all still at home.” Derek looked down at his hands in his lap. “It was my fault. My family- I was fifteen, and I’m the reason nine of my family members are dead. Well, ten, now, since Laura died. And- eleven. Peter’s not who he was. He was dead for a while, anyways.”

“Derek,” Stiles sighed. “I just- Why? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re my mate now,” Derek said quietly. “Because you’re going to help me build my new pack. Because I can trust you.”

“My mom died,” Stiles began softly. Derek lifted his head and tipped it to the side, very slightly. “When I was little, she got sick. And my dad would go there every day, and he’d usually take me, too, but when it was really bad, he left me at the station.” Stiles looked down at a loose thread in the bed sheet underneath him; he could not bring himself to meet Derek’s eyes. “And I knew, on those days-” and here, Stiles’ voice cracked- “that she wasn’t going to get better. One of the station days, my dad came back early, and he took me to the hospital. You should’ve seen my mom, she was always... She was the prettiest person I knew, Derek, you would’ve loved her.” Stiles paused to shut his eyes and take a deep, wavering breath. “She was so white, though. She had had skin like mine, she always had, so it looked wrong. And I knew.” Stiles paused to make sure his voice wouldn’t give out. He sat up against the headboard to center himself, and to give himself a moment. “I knew, that was it. She looked at me, and she smiled, and we both knew. My dad knew, too. It was- I don’t know. Thick. The air was thick. And my dad shut the door behind us, and he sat me up on the bed next to her. And she hugged me, and told me to sleep, so I told her I loved her and I shut my eyes, but I didn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep for a week after she died.” Stiles shook his head and looked down at his lap. “After that, my dad- I knew it was different. She was his everything. I thought it was my fault.” Stiles drew his knees up, pressed his hands to his face. “He had to raise me alone, and I was such a piece of shit. I wasn’t worth her. It was my fault- I killed my mother. I almost killed my father. He’s still stuck with me, this hyperactive little _bastard_ who ruined his life, who’s the reason his wife is dead, my _mom_ -”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, standing up only to sit down on the edge of the bed and tug Stiles closer. Stiles went, his body limp as he did, and allowed Derek to hold him up.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s shoulder. Derek shook his head and looked up at the Sheriff, who had one hand pressed against his eyes and Allison’s hand on his shoulder.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Derek assured him, keeping his voice low. Stiles took a shuddering breath and tried to ignore how Derek’s shirt was growing damp under his face.

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles mumbled. Derek’s hand came up to press against the back of Stiles’ head, offering a vague sense of security.

“It’s not yours, either,” Derek promised. Stiles hiccupped, and the Sheriff shifted over, laying a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles lifted his head and turned to see who it was, even though he knew - he could recognize his father’s touch anywhere.

“I never blamed you,” his father said softly. Stiles shook his head and looked down; the Sheriff grabbed Stiles’ chin and forced him to make eye contact. “I love you. You’re my son.”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Stiles choked out, switching abruptly from Derek’s hold to his father’s. Derek chose not to move, Stiles’ legs still twisted up in his lap even as his upper body was pressed against his father’s. The Sheriff allowed Stiles to bury his face in his father’s neck; he kissed his son’s temple.

“Derek was telling me,” the Sheriff began, his voice shaky but loud, and Stiles used it to ground him, keeping his mind there and then, caught in the present and the present only, “that you’re a... werewolf, now.”

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed, keeping his eyes down as he drew back.

“Your mom would’ve laughed and said something like, ‘You know, it figures he’d have to be so different,’” the Sheriff offered. Stiles lifted his head. “Something like that.”

“Yeah?” Stiles almost smiled. The Sheriff pat the side of his head and smiled for him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Stiles let out a long, shaky breath of air, then ran his hand through his hair.

“Think it’ll be alright?” Stiles asked, twisting around to look at Derek. Derek nodded, and Deaton came over then, sensing that he was allowed closer now. Scott shifted and laid a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“It’ll be alright,” Derek promised. He gripped Stiles’ hand tightly in his own for a moment before releasing him and standing. The Sheriff followed suit, and Scott bent down to whisper “We can talk later, if you want,” in Stiles’ ear before he, too, let him go. Deaton maneuvered him until he was laying down, then dragged up his terrifying medical bag.

“Let’s make sure you’re fit for duty,” Deaton suggested as he opened his bag and began rummaging around inside of it. Stiles scrubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Alright,” Stiles agreed, his hands falling to his sides. “Let’s do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon for Stiles' name is Przemysław because it's Polish (like they said his first name is), it's a bitch to pronounce, there's literally no way to come up with a good old-fashioned American nickname for it, and it means "clever" or "ingenious", which, hello, Stiles.
> 
> Also, I'm terribly sorry.
> 
> ALSO ALSO  
> I have begun doing commissions. I'll write whatever you like, just for you, in exchange for currency. Check it out: http://nlmellocommissions.tumblr.com/. Sorry to whore myself out up in here, but the point stands.
> 
> I love you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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